


Kiss and Tell

by iinoyb



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Confessions, Father/Son Incest, First Crush, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, casual incest, like super casual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 06:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21175187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iinoyb/pseuds/iinoyb
Summary: Snufkin never had a crush before. Then the Joxter comes into town and suddenly it's all he can think of.





	Kiss and Tell

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt over on Tumblr.
> 
> I'm pretty surprised my first Joxkin piece isn't gratuitous smut, but I'm sure I can rectify that soon...

It takes a good while for Snufkin to realize that what he is feeling for his father isn’t typical.

That the way his heart seems to skip a beat whenever the Joxter smiles at him, all mischief and sharp canines, isn’t normal. Or the way his skin feels heated whenever they touch, the slightest brush of a hand against his hip sending his mind reeling.

Joxter has a way of looking at people like he can read their minds and Snufkin wishes ever so dearly that this is just a silly impression he has.

The thing is, Snufkin never had a crush before. And he never had a father before either. So, it isn’t really all that strange that for the first few weeks he mistakes all these new and unfamiliar feelings for childlike admiration, equal parts curiosity and excitement.

The Joxter is good at telling stories. Snufkin isn’t sure if he believes all of them. In fact, most of them are quite fantastical, with dramatic flourishes and unrealistic strokes of luck that leave him doubting the sincerity of the words no matter how prettily they are strung together. But he finds that it doesn’t matter either way. It is the manner in which his father tells them, gesturing idly and easily while his body lays back against a tree, his hat tipped away from his face so Snufkin can see his eyes light up at every fanciful embellishment of the truth.

And it definitely helps that the Joxter is good at listening too. It is with some awkwardness that Snufkin tried to explain his nomadic routine, his inherent need for solitude which has so often been met with confusion and incomprehension by others. But his father just nodded, shrugged his shoulders.

“It is always better when one gets the freedom to do as one pleases, with disregard of boring conventions,” he had said softly, a grin tugging barely at his lips. “Besides, as I see it, you will get to see the world this way, which is very fortunate.” He leaned in closer, his breath brushing against the side of Snufkin’s face. “And the world will get to see you, which is more fortunate still.”

Those last words had been accompanied with a wink that left Snufkin feeling like he missed something vital. He had asked Moominpappa about it later but he had merely rolled his eyes and huffed that the Joxter was always so impractically cryptic.

But just a few days after that it becomes more than clear to him. The Joxter is full of jokes, witty remarks at his friend's expense mostly but also genuine funny quips that betray the razor-sharp mind that he much rather pretends he doesn't have. Snufkin smiles at them, genuinely, but he is reserved by nature and he knows the Joxter notices.

“You should smile more often, my dear,” he tells Snufkin, the tips of his fingers lingering against Snufkin's cheek, brushing into his hair. “You are much prettier that way.”

And just like that, he realizes.

“I don't know what to do about this,” Snufkin tells Moomin eventually, mere hours after the realization, when the odd feeling has been building in his stomach for weeks now and he feels like he is going to puke or pass out or worse. Whatever is worse than passing out in your own puke. “It's so silly.”

Moomin hums in agreement, fixing the flowers on Snufkin's hat. “Very silly.”

“I don't think I ever liked somebody as much.” He feels his face heat up in embarrassment, covers it with his hands. “Except for you, of course.”

Moomin laughs, slightly breathless and leans closer. “Of course.”

“I don't know what to do about it.”

“Well...” And when Moomin sits back Snufkin looks at him desperately. “Perhaps you can start by telling him.”

He opens his mouth to retort, to tell his friend that that is the worst possible idea. That he would much rather do anything besides that. Maybe he can leave early this year, set out before autumn and hope that by next spring the Joxter has found something or somebody else to occupy him with and Snufkin never has to see him again.

But that thought is so unbearable he can't quite voice it.

“It's-” he tries, resists the urge to cover his face again but scrunches up his nose instead. “It's weird. It's wrong. I can't do this- He's my _father_, Moomintroll.”

“Well, it's...uh,” Moomin casts his eyes skyward, as if the answer could be written in the clouds, but when he looks back at Snufkin his expression is sincere. “It's unusual. But the Joxter is a very unusual person. And so are you. So somehow it kind of fits, I think.”

He lets those words sink in, lets them wander around his mind for a minute to see if they hold true. Snufkin never was one for rules, or doing what other people did. Or doing what other people thought he should do either, for that matter. And the Joxter is just so very peculiar in his own way.

Still, he holds on to the thought for a few days more, seeing if his conviction will change.

Then there comes a day when the summer sun is shining blindingly bright down the valley, the air is warm and heavy and it's the perfect weather to be lazy, to lay around and do absolutely nothing. The Joxter seems to think so at least, stretched out on the grass, with his ankles crossed over each other and his head resting on his hands. Snufkin tries not to be too conspicuous peaking at his father from the corner of his eyes, gripping the fishing rod in his hands tight enough that his knuckles turn white, but it's hard.

Hard because Joxter is staring at him too, sunlight catching on the blue of his eyes, making them look even brighter somehow. Snufkin swallows uneasily.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, casual and easy and not at all like the sight of the Joxter's smirk is making his stomach turn into knots.

“I hope not,” The Joxter answers just as lazily, but doesn't stop looking, voice low and soft. “I'm simply enjoying the view.”

Snufkin turns back to the river, watches the ripples on the water with unnecessary scrutiny. “The valley is beautiful this time of year.” He can't see his own reflection but doesn't need to for him to know the cursed blushing is there again.

His father doesn't respond. Merely watches him with that insufferable smile of his, a face that knows everything already. But if he did Snufkin wouldn't need to tell him at all, would he?

He nearly jumps out of his skin when his father puts one arm around his waist, tugging at him, creeping too close for comfort. The fishing rod falls out of Snufkin's hands and rolls down the slope, but he doesn't even notice. He's too busy trying to compose himself as the Joxter pulls him against his body. “You are always so tense,” he says. "It's worrying.”

Snufkin tries waiting for his heart to calm down but it won't, intent on beating its way out of his chest at this pace. His father is warm and smells vaguely like tobacco and the forest and it's making it hard to think. “And you would know about worrying?” he manages.

“I know nothing about worrying,” The Joxter answers quite unhelpfully, but Snufkin lets him because it means he doesn't need to move for some seconds more. “But I do think you are worrying about the wrong things.”

Snufkin angels his head back, feels the Joxter press into him harder still and his pulse is rapid, too quick for comfort. He closes his eyes. “You think?”

And then those lips are pressing into his, stealing whatever little remained of his breath. For a moment he can't think, the entire world narrowing down in their shared heat, the sun ever so bright and the sound of the water in his ears. His father draws back, sighs his contentment into the air between them.

“This is wrong,” Snufkin mumbles, but doesn't look away.

“Quite so,” Joxter answers and when he smiles Snufkin can see his fangs, just barely peeking through. Ignores the way it sends a shiver down his spine. “But if you allow me to, I'm sure I can change your mind.”

Snufkin nods briefly, catches his father's lips for another kiss.

He's sure it won't take that much convincing at all.


End file.
